


Third Street

by IvoryLithia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bartender Harry, Draco's PoV mainly, Drarry, M/M, Post-War, Slow Build, eighth year student Draco, figuring out as I go, ignores Epilogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9365552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvoryLithia/pseuds/IvoryLithia
Summary: After the end of Wizarding War with Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter was one of the most looked up to wizards. Everyone loved him, glorified him.Until he disappeared.Although most of the other seventh years returned to complete their education, Harry was nowhere to be seen. He was unplottable, no locating or tracking spell able to find him, no owl able to find him. He was completely unreachable. The only news of his well-being was letters to Ron and Hermione every few weeks.At least, until Draco Malfoy slipped off to London during winter break to sneak a cheeky drink at a muggle pub on Third Street.





	1. The Flying Eagle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is an experiment of a story I'm trying out. I have no clue how long it'd be, as I only have this and the next chapter planned so please, let me know if you'd like more!  
> Thanks for reading!

> **HARRY POTTER STILL MISSING**
> 
> Eight months after the end of the Great Wizarding War, Harry Potter still remains missing. He disappeared quickly from Hogwarts as things began to calm down, leaving behind only a message to his two friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-

Draco Malfoy just sighed and turned the page of the paper, not even bothering to finish reading the article. They had been repeating the same thing over and over since his disappearance, and they would keep repeating it until they got more than just the assurance from Weasley and Granger that he was still alive. Still, he couldn't help but find it impressive that he's managed to stay hidden for so long from a whole wizarding world looking for him. He could just be in the muggle world, but--

Draco cut his thoughts off there. There was no point in thinking about him. They had reached an agreement right before Potter disappeared, and he wanted to just leave it at that.

"Anything good in the news honey?" His mother came by with a tray with two cups of tea and a few snacks on it. She seated herself in the other armchair in front of the fire, daintily picking up her cup.

"Thanks, mother. No, nothing good from what I can see." He folded the paper up over the face of the Kingsley Shaklebolt (the photo was taken at a conference where he revealed that the last of the stolen wands were returned to their muggle-born owners; Kingsley looked tired, but fiercely happy.) and picked up his own tea. His eyes drifted over to the fire that was keeping him warm. It was cold in this big mansion, drafts curling slowly through the halls. It was also deadly silent, so he often locked himself away in this smaller library, far from his father. He hadn’t quite forgiven him yet for everything he had been a part of.

The log in the fire popped loudly before, with a small whoosh, collapsed in on itself. Absently Draco leaned forward and placed another log on to keep it going. Soon it had caught and lit the room up again. He was tempted to twist up the paper and throw it in the fire too, but he set it aside for now. It had been very tense here at his family home since he got back. His parents weren’t happy that he was shedding his pureblood exterior a little. He had apologized to some of the people he tormented, and stopped bullying all together. He didn’t associate with Crabbe and Goyle anymore- granted, they were locked away in prison now. He spent his days in the library, cramming for exams. He wanted to be done and out as soon as possible, re-forging his name into something he could be proud of.

He still held the pride deep within him of being a pureblood, but now he was ashamed of his name. He had seen pure good, and it had blinded him. It showed him just how dark he was. He still was cocky, still played Quidditch (he was helping Slytherin to victory), still was good at potions, and still had a passion for magic. If anything, these were all stronger. He wasn’t good-no, by a long shot he was still considered an asshole to some- but he was a little more tolerable.

He leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly waving away his mothers attempts to get him to eat some of the snacks she brought. There would be plenty of time for eating later at dinner- besides, they ate lunch only a couple hours ago. He didn’t know what he wanted to do yet, but he wanted to use the part of the family wealth he had already inherited to do something good, to help the wizarding world rebuild a little. He was hoping to maybe even travel, and see how different the wizarding world is all around the world. All he really knew was that he never wanted to become what his father was.

 

Draco slipped away onto the frost-covered lawn of the home soon after dinner. There was still a couple days to the new year, and though he appreciated spending time with his mother, he needed time alone. The eighth year students were allowed to go anywhere as long as they passed their apparition test, so Draco knew exactly where he wanted to go. Making sure he looked as muggle as possible with a peacoat instead of robes, he turned quickly on the spot and zipped away.

He appeared in a small side-alley of London, in a spot reserved for apparating wizards. It was close to Diagon Alley, but Draco turned the other way and began walking away, hands stuffed in his pockets. The city was lit up, and at once he felt calmness wash over him. That house always made him nervous- he couldn’t wait to move out and finally have some freedom. He peered up at the sky, at the dark swirling clouds overhead. It probably was going to rain again.

Draco was starting to have an appreciation for the muggle world. Without magic, they’ve somehow managed to make up for all their shortcomings with inventions. He had scorned them as lower before, but now he could see how amazing some of the things they did were. A car zipped past him, and he watched its glowing brake lights fade down the street. He would still stick with what he knew, and the power of his own two legs, but they really were quite genius. Not that he would admit any of this to any of his fellow wizards- but he almost found a kind of comfort being around people who didn’t know who he was.

His feet had brought him more into the heart of London. He never really knew where he was going, but just wandered mindlessly. He swiped a hand through his hair, brushing it out of its stiff hairdo he generally donned around his parents. It felt much natural to just be brushed back from his ears and forehead, and at once the last bit of tension drained from his shoulders. He paused to let a group of people pass at a narrow section of the cement, and his eyes drifted up. He was standing next to the door of a small pub, two steps up from the sidewalk. A painted wooden sign hanging from the small overhang told him the name was “Flying Eagle Pub.” The eagle looked more like a dragon to him the longer he stared at it, and he could’ve just sworn it winked at him.

A gust of wind brought him back to his senses, and he quickly checked his wallet before mounting the stairs and opening the slightly squealing door. He was greeted by the rush of warm air smelling faintly of smoke. He took a moment to look around. The room was surprisingly spacious, two large windows in the front on either side of the door spilling cold light onto a couple small oak tables. A roaring fire in a fireplace was up against the wall to the left, chairs grouped up around it. A bar spanned the far wall, shelves holding a wide range of alcohol. On the right wall a large chalkboard had the menu written on it with fancy scrawls- although a few of the newest editions had a spikey, uneven hand. Apparently they offered a few basic pub meals as well, though Draco wasn’t hungry.

The room was pleasantly lit, though not very brightly. A small hum of sound greeted him as he pulled his Slytherin scarf from around his neck; all the other patrons were talking in low voices, the sound of drinks hitting hard surfaces punctuating the conversation. It was just the kind of atmosphere that he was looking for.

He wandered up to the bar, taking a stool at the end. The barkeep was busy getting some stuff together for another customer, so Draco took his time to look at the variety of drinks that they had. He didn’t want much alcohol- he had been drinking wine from home for quite a few years now, but he preferred lager when he could get it. His eyes lit on their lager options, and he quickly sorted out what he wanted, just in time for when the barkeep walked over.

“Hey, how can I help- you...” Draco looked up at the barkeep, and his jaw dropped, his eyebrows going up. Unruly black hair and piercing green eyes behind large frames greeted him, their expressions mirroring.

“Potter?”


	2. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went into this chapter with no plan so it ended up super short again, so sorry!
> 
> I promise the next one will be longer-- Please leave any feedback, I'd love to hear it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Potter seemed to freeze for a moment, looking exactly like a deer caught in headlights. Draco could almost see the panic falling over him in the second he hesitated. Then he was through the staff door before Draco could even blink.

"Wait-!" His feet hit the ground, tangling with the stool he was just sitting on. He stumbled, catching himself hard against the bar top, the sharp edge digging into his ribs, but he didn't notice as he slipped around the corner of the bar and set off in pursuit. 

Through the kitchen he chased Potter, barely avoiding a disgruntled employee making a swing for him with a stew filled ladle, to the back where he had just barely seen his back disappear up a staircase there. He practically flew up the worn wooden steps, his feet barely placing down before they were lifted again.

When his foot hit the landing, Draco froze. Potter was standing there, his hands held protectively over his chest. Without warning, Potter threw out his hands, and Draco felt like a wall slammed into his face. His heel slipped over the last step and he was falling- the world was spinning-

He was stopped a moment before hitting the stairs. He tucked his chin against his chest, peering back up at the landing. Potter was standing there, a hand held out.

"Get out." He was roughly righted on his feet, and he had to grab the arm-rail to keep from toppling backwards again. Potter's arms, now that he wasn't holding Draco up with his magic, wrapped around his sternum and stomach protectively. 

"I'm sorry." Draco managed to choke out. "I didn't realize- didn't know- that you were here." He clasped his own shoulder nervously, immediately dropping it when he realized what he had done. 

"Get out." Potter repeated. Now that Draco could somewhat see him (the light was coming from behind his head, which only helped accentuate his awful bedhead) he seemed even smaller and thinner than he had been back at Hogwarts. He couldn't help but stop and gawk for a second. Potter was only wearing a tee-shirt with the pub logo on top of a pocket and some jeans, but they both hung off him like he was a skeleton. The lighting threw the shadows under his eyes into sharp relief, despite the glasses.

A strange thought struck Draco- where was Potter's wand?

"I won't tell anyone." Draco sputtered- Potter looked like he was about to actually send him flying down the rest of the stairs. "That you're here, I mean."

"I- What?" This seemed to stop Potter in his tracks of whatever he was going to say.

"I won't tell anyone." Draco repeated, shifting a little where he stood between two steps. "You obviously want to get away from the wizarding world. I wouldn't-" he cleared his throat, "Now I wouldn't do that."

Potter stared down at him for a few seconds, his throat working a little.

"Thanks." His voice was quiet, but it reached Draco easily. He nodded, and turned hastily on the steps, descending them quickly. He wasn't sure why he had chased Potter exactly, just to leave like this. Something about seeing him looking so miserable made him just want to leave.

He ducked back through the kitchen, apologizing to the chef who he had nearly knocked down before, and back out into the main room. Idly he wondered if anyone noticed- but no one looked when he reentered, so he left it at that. All thoughts of getting alcohol had left him, and he numbly put his coat back on, practically smacking his head on the door as he headed out. Harry freaking Potter was a bartender at a muggle pub? Sure he had thought before about where would be the best place to hide from the wizarding world (primarily Voldemort) but he had never thought of being out in the middle of everything, pretending to just be a normal muggle.

His heart was finally calming down ten minutes later after he had been mindlessly wandering further into the heart of London. He didn't want to remember where the bar was- he convinced himself to never think about it again, to never let anyone know, and to just pretend it never happened. There was no way he would be able to do anything with the information. Sure, he thought about selling the information to the press. But he was in a muggle job, in a muggle part of town. Wizards and witches apparating here from all around the world would not be the best course of action- there would have to be more than one obliviate if that ever happened, not to mention the distress he would be causing Potter.

No, he decided. He would never give up this information. Potter looked like only a shadow of whom everyone expected him to be. No, it would be much better for the press to continue spinning tales and lies of how Potter was spending his days exploring all around the world, helping people come out of hiding who hadn't found out the news that Voldemort was dead. If they found him as he is now, they would be severely disappointed. 

That settled, he tried to distract himself. The muggles put up quite interesting decorations when it came to the holiday season- he never thought about people celebrating Christmas quite to this extreme. For him it had always been a couple presents dispersed to his family members, maybe receiving a couple in return, long boring dinners of too many courses, and being kicked out of the dining room once the adults wanted to talk and drink more. He didn't like any of his cousins and the older ones joined the adults anyway, which left him to go back to his room and spend the rest of his day reading and disposing of the poor gifts he had received.

Just was he looked around himself at this time, he saw thousands of muggles both loving and hating the stress and the season. It was all very fascinating. A clock on a streetcorner told him that it was getting close to eleven now- he should get back home, as his mother liked having him up early in the mornings, and he was quite nasty when he didn't get enough sleep. 

He found himself a dark corner, turned, and apparated home. 

"Draco? Where were you?" His mother met him at the front door as he stomped dew from his shoes before kicking them off.

"Just out for a walk." He replied idly, pulling off his coat. His hands came up to his neck to remove his scarf, just to find it not there. He frowned- where could it be? He couldn't even remember the last time he had even seen it. He almost missed what his mother said next, he was so distracted about his scarf.

"This late at night? You should be in bed, Draco- you're heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow remember?"

"Oh. Yes, mother." He had completely forgotten- he had told his mother he would not be attending the family dinner this year, and instead wanted to return to Hogwarts. Everything had been arranged with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Slughorn. He would be flooing back at 10:00AM so he could enjoy his day there, but still have Christmas breakfast with his parents. "Thank you for the reminder. I lost track of time." He kissed her cheek goodnight, and made his way through the maze of halls back to his room. How he used to get lost in these rooms for hours at a time. His parents never noticed, and it was always Dobby who would find him for meals.

Now that he realized more about how bad he had been to Dobby, he wished he could apologize. The house-elf would probably never want to see him again, though.

He had not really unpacked in the few days he had been home, so it took a quick wave of his wand for everything to be packed back up. He laid his peacoat back overtop- maybe he would stop in at Hogsmead, and he would like something a little warmer to wear than his robes if he did so.

His trunk packed, he quickly changed and slipped beneath the sheets after casting a warming spell over them. This big drafty mansion always managed to be very cold, no matter how many fires were lit, so warming charms had been one of the first things he had learned. Thankfully they didn't count as underage magic because they couldn't be used to hurt someone, or identify yourself as a wizard.

Once his head was under the sheets, he let out a long sigh. Never, in a million years, would he have thought that could have happened. How did he keep his head? How did he not shout? The ugly head of the childhood bully he had been reared its head again, and he battled with it on those stairs. He was glad now that he had said what he did, but it could have gone much worse. He rolled over, trying to pull his thoughts from his brain. At a time like this, he thought having a pensive would be handy. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.

What had happened to Potter so he was now only a shadow of the Boy who Lived Twice?


	3. Withdrawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the hits, kudos, and comments! I'm so happy that something I started in my free time could be bringing some enjoyment to people! Here's a longer chapter- hopefully they'll all begin to grow in length, as I'm finally getting more of an idea of where I'm heading with this.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Draco was finding it hard to wake up over his pumpkin juice. He had been at Hogwarts for a couple days, Christmas passing rather uneventfully, but he there still was the lull between the holidays and the start of classes which he was finding hard to deal with. In the next couple of days the other students would be trickling back in, currently rendering the Great Hall with only a sleepy kind of hum, rather than the general loud chatter. This was only helping him get back to sleep, something he really didn't want to do. He had planned on finishing his last few break assignments today so he could have a couple days to recover, but at this pace he'd be lucky to wake up before classes started again.

If there was one thing that he really was unhappy about at Hogwarts, it was the lack of coffee. Okay, so he understood that younger kids shouldn’t have it, but the final year at least should have access! He could smell it wafting down from the staff table, and his stomach yearned for it, yet he had to drink juice. He had asked Headmistress McGonagall about it and she merely replied with a clipped tone that coffee was for adults, not for children. Considering the way how she hurried off after telling him this, Draco couldn’t help but think her eyes hadn't even seen him.

He checked the time, idly wondering if he would have time to slip down to the kitchen and see if there was any left over. He probably should just send an owl to his mother asking if they still had that old French-press that their estranged Black relative once sent them as a joke- it would be perfect for making himself a cup every morning before he had to deal with any of the other students who still sent him distrusting looks every morning. Maybe he would even be kind enough to share some with Nott, the other Slytherin who had returned to complete his education.

Speaking of Nott, he slipped into the bench across from Draco looking just about as tired (though at this point Draco would be surprised if anyone could be as tired as he was, what with being on three hours of sleep for the last four days). Theodore Nott was probably not the first thing you’d think of when you thought of a pureblood. He was a kind of lean, tall scrawny boy with black hair almost as messy as Potters, though he towered over everyone else at the table. He has become one of the more athletic people of the house, transforming from the weak weedy boy he used to be, now spending his afternoons going for a run to keep in shape and his nights showing off to the girls of Slytherin.

Draco didn’t talk to him much, despite the fact they were the only two left in their dorm. They had been acquaintances when Draco had all of his bravado, but Nott saw it as him abandoning a good cause when he changed for the better. Draco could only see bad things to come from Nott, but he at least made the attempt to come back and complete his education, unlike most of the others of their year in the house. They tried to keep to their own business and didn’t bother each other, which suited them both perfectly. Draco spent his days tucked away in the library or up in the dorm while Nott hung out with all the younger friends he easily made.

Draco couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous of him- yet he didn’t want to quite associate with people who knew how he had been previously. So he would bite his tongue and keep his chin up, ignoring the looks others would send him, making sure to always keep his sleeves pulled down. He almost could relate to how he was sure Potter was feeling. He was almost positive he also felt like he didn’t want to associate with people who already had a preconception of who he was before they even spoke to him about who he was, not what others thought about him.

Draco groaned and smacked his head with his palm. Again he was thinking about Potter. It had been hard to think about anything else, with school still not having started up yet. He had tried everything he could to distract himself- books, puzzles, games, writing- everything. Yet still he always managed to get back on the topic. Silently he dwelled on the the incident with Potter, running it through his mind again and again during those sleepless nights, analyzing and looking at the situation from every single angle possible. He had spent so much time thinking about it, he was almost certain he remembered where it was located, despite his attempts at the time to forget.

The swinging sign of an Eagle slowly morphing into a dragon with every swing followed him everywhere, a small squeak from behind his head, the feeling of rough wood on his fingertips, the glint of the chain. He was almost tempted to attempt a memory charm on himself to try and drive out some of the thoughts that weren’t letting him sleep.

If he was being affected this bad by it, he could only imagine what Potter must be going through. For someone to show up out of the blue like that, not to mention someone who he had always known as an enemy... It must have terrified him. He already looked unwell, and Draco found himself worrying that he had made it worse somehow. He didn’t care for Potter exactly; he just didn’t want to owe him anything else. Causing him distress would only make things worse already were. 

The rush of feathers above his head jerked Draco out of his thought. He tilted his head back and looked at the rush of owls bearing down on the crowd below, trying to pick his own eagle owl out from the crowd. He couldn’t see him though, so he turned to his barely touched plate, sighing. He played around with the eggs on his plate for a few more moments before he sighed again and grabbed a napkin, wrapping a couple pieces of bacon up in it. He may as well make his way over to the owlery later to send the letter off to his mother because he really did need that coffee.

He was close to the end of the table, so he was almost to the doors when an explosion of noise occurred behind him from the Gryffindor table. It sounded like that Weasley boy again, so Draco just ignored it and kept walking, carefully wiping his fingers on the napkin to make sure he wasn’t getting grease from the bacon on his clothes. No doubt it was another letter from Potter- that seemed to the usual thing to get people so roused. No, it shouldn’t be any of his bother anymore. 

Draco was almost to the stairs to the dungeons when someone behind him yelled “Malfoy!” At once he stopped and turned around, and instantly his stomach dropped a little when he saw Weasley and Granger striding towards him. Granger's bushy hair seemed to be crackling from tension.Before he could say anything, a brown-paper parcel was thrown at him. At once Draco dropped the bacon to catch the package against his chest. He very nervously glanced up, quickly taking in their stormy expressions.

“What is this, Weasley?” He kept his voice low, his tone level. He wanted to look down, but he was too nervous to.

“You tell us.” Weasley snapped, crossing his arms. His dissent and unhappiness was very visible. Against his better judgement, Draco just cautiously glanced down at the package, squeezing it a little. It was soft. He glanced back up, briefly making eye-contact with Granger. She scowled in return.

“Well? Open it!” Oh how the tables have turned. Draco could remember the times he had harassed these two and Potter about his broomstick package. He didn’t say anything, though, and tore open the corner.

“Oh, my scarf!” Gently Draco ran the fingers of one hand over the familiar knit. So that’s where it had been! It clicked- he had left it at the bar when he chased after Potter, and forgot to pick it up on his way out.

“Why did Harry have it?” Granger stepped up now. “Did you run into him somewhere?” Draco tried to pull himself back from the throws of his memories, clearing his throat nervously. He had to stay calm, especially when he could see Weasley’s jaw working and his hands clenching. He had to keep himself in control. He didn’t want to fight.

“I- I ran into him, yes.” Weasley looked like he would smash his head in.

“Where?” A thought dawned on Draco. Weasley and Granger didn’t know where Potter was, and he was their closest link to finding out where he was.

“Didn’t he tell you?” At that the two exchanged glances, confirming his hunch.

“Just answer the bloody question, Malfoy.” 

“I can’t.” Draco replied, cool. He gently covered the corner of his scarf that he exposed with the ripped paper. He could look at it properly when he got back to his dorm- he didn’t have to do it in a threatening situation like this. “I promised.”

“What?” Granger practically spat the word out. She looked like she was on the edge of hexing him. “You promised?” Her voice was shrill enough to break glass. “When did you have enough time to promise anything?”

“Between him telling me to ‘get out.’” Draco replied, raising an eyebrow. “Ask him. He’ll be able to tell you a lot more than I can.”

They exchanged looks again, and Weasley made an involuntary movement. Granger immediately put a hand on his arm and he stopped, though he continued to look just as stormy.

“Look,” Draco was almost desperate to get out of this situation, “It was a chance encounter and I dropped my scarf, I didn’t even realize he had it until now, okay? I can’t give you what you want. Now if I could please go, I have some things to get done.” He reigned himself back, trying not to get quite as aggressive as he wanted to. 

He didn’t wait to get a response- he just turned around and headed down the stairs towards the common room. Though his neck prickled, he didn't hear or feel anyone chasing after him. A couple turned in, he let himself relax a little and leaned up against the wall for a moment to steady himself. He looked down at his hands and finally remembered that he had dropped the bacon. He hoped he wouldn't get in trouble if anyone else noticed. With Filch gone anyway, by the time he probably reappeared it would still be there. The new person wasn't very good.

Regaining his balance, he hurried through the dark, damp tunnels down the familiar path to the Slytherin common room. He gently whispered the password to the wall, slipping in it as soon as it opened enough. At once he felt calmer, his heart rate dropping quickly from its previously still frantic pace. It was a familiar place that always had a special place in his heart, and he was so happy that he could have a safe haven like this (even if most of the people in there always sent him dirty looks).

Draco didn’t take much time to really enjoy the atmosphere, though, before he was heading to his dorm-room. Secretly he was hoping there was some kind of message pinned to his scarf, and he didn’t want anyone else to see it if there was one- not that he was expecting Potter to have something to say to him. He wouldn’t say he was surprised if there was even a little something, though.

He tripped over to his bed, making sure there was no one else around (there shouldn’t be, with Nott probably still eating) before he dropped the package onto his bed. He didn’t waste any time, grabbing the corner already somewhat torn off and tearing the paper apart. 

Quickly he pulled the scarf out of the packaging and shook it out- no, no note stuck to it, though the scarf looked to be in better condition, somehow, then it had been when he left it at the pub. He gently set it aside, and poked through the packaging. No, no note there either. Draco sighed a little, bundling all the paper into a small ball when he was sure there was nothing written on any of it, except for his name on the exterior of the wrapping. 

He didn’t want to say that he was disappointed, or that he expected a note- but it would have been nice to have something, at least. 

With a quill and paper in hand, he headed back out to the common-room and sat down to write the letter to his mother. He really, really needed his coffee. 

 

On his way toward the owlery, Draco saw the bacon still where he had dropped it, so he paused for a moment to pick it up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something white- a very distinct slip of paper, halfway lodged under a lower brick right next to his dropped bacon. He looked around, saw no one, and quickly picked the slip up.

Written in a messy handwriting were the words “shrieking shack, sunday 12pm.”


	4. Pauses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay with this chapter! I was quite unhappy with it, and still aren't the happiest, but its better then what it was. Thanks for reading!

Draco immediately forgot about the letter for his mother that was clutched in his fingers, choosing instead to flee quickly back to his dorm. He tumbled onto the bed and tugged the curtains closed before his brain finally caught up. Was this for him? From Potter? Why and how would it have been there though? His first concern was how close the location was to school. From all his speculation, it seemed like Potter didn’t want to get close to the school right now- so why would he suggest a location close by?

Quickly he backtracked. Was this handwriting even his? The slip of paper was tiny, the words barely squeezing onto the surface of it. The spikey words looked familiar, so for a moment Draco pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes, digging back through his memory. Yes- he knew this handwriting from the bar. The memory had been burned into his brain- the new additions on the chalk board at the bar had been written in this hand. 

Draco realized it was probably stupid thinking, but this convinced him that yes, this was Potter’s writing. He was sure if he hadn’t burned the paper his scarf had been wrapped in, he could compare it and no doubt would have found it the same. He couldn’t help but compare the handwriting to his own neat, perfect script. Hell, this was print, not script, so you could already see a difference there. 

He had to pull himself back as his mind drifted into more silly and useless facts. How did he know this wasn’t a note meant for Weasley and Granger? They were Potter’s friends leagues before Draco would even enter the picture. He was on the edges of enemy territory he was sure, if he had to place himself somewhere.

By the time he headed down to lunch, Draco had a plan figured out. He would go- all eighth years were allowed free reign of the village on the weekends, so regardless he wouldn’t be doing anything that broke school rules. He just would keep it casual, pretend he was stopping off there for a quick break away from the noise of the village. It wouldn’t be suspicious- everyone went there at some point or another. The last time he had been there was when he was attacked by those wild, random snowballs (somehow, he was convinced Potter had a hand in that too somehow). 

The Shrieking Shack was now heralded as the final battle-place of the supposed martyr Severus Snape. What a load of bull. Now that he had become aware of the bubble he had lived in, he became aware of how Snape was not a good professor. Sure, his lessons were good. Yes, he was undoubtedly a potions master. But you don’t teach students by indulging in favoritism and putting down those who clearly needed his help. Draco was probably one of the few who got the proper education he needed from that class.

Either way, it wouldn’t be suspicious. People knew now that it wasn’t haunted, or at least pretended it wasn’t. Still, no one knew why there had been howling and noises, but the place was now claimed to be vanquished of evil. Now, it had become more of a tourist spot- many of those came and visited it visited it alongside the Battle of Hogwarts memorial. Draco wondered if Potter has even seen that yet, considering he hadn’t returned to Hogwarts since the battle. At least, not that people knew. 

Draco could still remember the vigil that was held one of the first few weeks of classes. The whole school came out and everyone lit candles- it was very sad, but it was very peaceful. Everyone was helping put those who passed to rest. A couple of the lingering souls around the castle had slowly dispersed after that, going to spread the tales of their battles to others, trying to help from such a thing happening again. 

Draco thought maybe he’d stop by and light a candle while he was in town. He stood up from the table, leaving half of his lunch just as he had left half of his breakfast, turning and heading out of the doors and towards the owelry. He had to finally send this letter off to his mother- Draco couldn’t help but think his head would explode if he went much longer without caffeine.

 

Draco passed the next few days in a haze of restlessness and insomnia and assignments. If there was one thing he was happy about, it was that he managed to get all of his schoolwork done finally, and the fact that his mother replied to his letter with word that a coffee press and some coffee were on the way. He made sure to adequately thank her. However, the dawn of Sunday found him awake already and pacing. Nott slept on without a word or a stir, but Draco was impatient for the day to start already. He had tossed and turned all night, his mind throwing a thousand “what if”s at him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to live with anxiety, what with everything previously having been very calm and demure. 

Nine am found him jumping up from an untouched plate to hurry out of the front doors with a couple other eighth years taking their chance to escape the castle for the day. He didn’t speak with them, merely tucked his nose and chin into his scarf and crunched his way down to the gates. Amiable chatter followed him down, but he ignored it.

He had a couple things to pick out while he was in town. He had gotten some gifts for his parents for Christmas, but his mother’s birthday would be here before he knew it, and he never knew what to get his father so it never hurt to be looking for ideas now. He hated being in the last minute rush- it always led him to buying something he shouldn’t. Along with restocking his late-night studying snack fund (because Nott found it and stole it all) and getting some snacks for his owl, he had a fair few things to keep him busy. Maybe he could stop off for a butterbeer after it all before he headed off towards the Shrieking Shack. Granted, he wasn’t exactly welcome there, so maybe he could just get one to go or something. No one could deny that it was an extremely good drink. 

The air was quite crisp. The sky was a clear blue, strange for this area, but there was a taste of moisture in the air so Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up snowing later on. His breath raised in front of him in gentle white puffs, making him bury his nose even further into his scarf. He never had been one for the cold, even crisp. It reminded him too much of the bone-chill of the stone mansion. He wanted to get away from that feel as much as possible.

He couldn’t deny that Hogsmead was looking particularly beautiful. The sunlight glinted off of snow that covered the roofs, giving the whole town a fairytale feel that fitted the season. If only he didn’t have worry gnawing at his stomach, he would be able to appreciate it much more.

He took care of his errands pretty quickly- he custom ordered a bracelet to be made for his mother, and he got a couple of ideas for his father, including a vintage muggle wine, something which he hoped would help him open up a bit more to the others in this world. Besides, wine was something his father always had a taste for.

Draco lingered in the pet shop, looking around at all the owls offered and talked to the person at the counter for a few minutes, explaining what kind of owl he had. He finally settled on some good treats, and headed off to Honeydukes. It was the most packed, of course, and he loaded up on a fair amount of chocolates and lollypops, taking his time to linger over products he had never really considered before. He ended up leaving with a couple he hadn’t thought about before, tucking them into his messenger bag alongside the owl treats. 

He checked the clock on the corner, spotting that it was already 11:30. He had taken his time to linger over everything and not rush himself, which clearly paid off in the time that he killed as intended. He took a quick pit stop off at the Three Broomsticks to grab himself a couple bottles of butterbeer, and then he was off. It was a decent walk to the Shrieking Shack, as it was off a side-road that distanced it from the main town, but he took his time. It wasn’t twenty minutes worth of a walk, no matter how slowly you went.

Finally, it came into view. He could see others at the fence, peering up at the shack while talking in lowered tones. A new sign stood by the gate, one that he knew talked about how Voldemort had stayed here for a couple hours and executed Snape. He had already read it, and so stepped away to the side to a rock. He perched on it, opening one of the still-warm bottles of butterbeer. It got all over his upper lip as he sipped it, and he wiped it off with the back of his mitten. It soaked through the fabric and chilled the warm skin underneath, but he didn’t bother to do anything else about it.

The thought hit him again- what if, after all of his careful thinking, this was a bad idea? What if Potter wouldn’t show up? What if it hadn’t even been for him? He looked around quickly at the others here, but it didn’t seem like anyone else was excepting company. In fact, he could see Granger and Weasley leaning up against the fence. They seemed to be talking over a scrap of paper in low, urgent voices. They glanced over at him, and he looked away quickly. He didn’t want it to seem like he had been watching them.

His heart sank as they came over.

“Malfoy.” Weasley spit out in way of greeting.

“Weasley.” Draco replied in as steady of a tone as possible. His heart-rate was practically screaming hysteria at this point. Had these two planted it to get him out here? It wasn’t like they were alone, though. Nervously he gripped the bottle in his fingers.

“We planted that message for you to come here.” At once Draco’s heart fell through his feet. Of course they did. He should have never come here, it was always a bad idea- “We- okay, I planted it because I wanted to talk to you on neutral ground.” 

Draco blinked up at Granger owlishly. She wanted to talk? Was this seriously the same girl who had punched him (rightfully) in the third year? Weasley looked uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath, clearly trying to school her face into a more neutral expression.

“I know we came on as... Strong, previously. Emotions tend to take hold in situations like that.” Draco nodded.

“I understand.” He swallowed, trying to keep his throat from completely closing up on itself.

“We’ve just been really worried about Harry.” They both were still standing, making Draco feel nervous. It was almost claustrophobic. “We haven’t seen him in months, and you were- well, you were the first link that we’ve had in all that time to possibly finding him.”

“I understand.” Draco repeated, nervously crossing one arm over his stomach. “It merely was chance, though. I can’t give you any more information on it.” Granger was looking conflicted, and Weasley turned away, clearly in an effort to control whatever anger he had. 

“Okay, I know. You can’t give us anything. But, just tell me… Did he seem okay to you? Healthy? Happy?” 

The encounter flicked through his mind; Potter, wearing clothes that hung off his frame. Potter, sharp shadows under his eyes. Potter, holding his waist in a defensive position. There was no way he could tell them that he was doing okay, but there was no way he could tell them he wasn’t.

“I don’t know.” He settled on after a long pause which left the two of them shifting anxiously. “The physical body generally is a representation of the minds condition, though it can be altered with magic. He did… He did not seem to be in the best shape physically, but I could not tell you. I do not know him.”

Weasley and Granger sighed, glancing at eachother. Draco could only imagine what unsaid words were exchanged with those looks. Gently, he stood. 

“Granger.” She turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help. And… I’m sorry. For what I’ve said in the past.” Her eyebrows shot up. “I indulged in mindless hate that had been ingrained in me.”

“I, uh.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I can accept that apology.” 

Draco smiled lightly at her, barely lifting the corners of his mouth. Smiling genuinely was still so foreign to him. “I didn’t expect you to. Call it selfish, but I had to say it for myself. Could you answer one question for me?”

“What?”

“Why did you plant the message? I most likely wouldn’t have found it.”

They exchanged looks again. These unspoken words were getting under Draco’s skin.

“Well, we weren’t expecting to you show, really. It was just a slight chance that you’d try to see what it was.”

“Actually, I have a quick question about that. How did you get your handwriting to look like Potters?”

“Oh, that.” Hermione laughed lightly. “I copied one of his old letters and just cut out where he had written that. I’m no good at forging writing.” She seemed to remember herself and who she was talking to. “Uh, thanks. For coming and answering.” She seemed like she wanted to ask more, but she held herself back. Draco was glad she did, as he didn’t think he’d be able to stay civil for much longer.

“Of course. Have a good day.” 

As soon as Draco was away from the two, he let out a big sigh. His nerves were jangled enough for the next year. One last trip to the memorial, and he’d be set. Quickly he strode back into town and to the back corner where the monument has its space. The large rock monument sat ontop of three layers of stairs, all of which were covered in burnt-out candles. Someone was already there, kneeled on the ground at the last level of steps, lighting a candle, so Draco stood back and out of the way. His eyes were drawn to the person, and he peered closer. They had a familiar shade of dark hair.

Before he could guess anymore, the person stood and turned around. They made eye contact, and at once froze. Harry Potter stared back at Draco, looking like a petrified deer.


End file.
